


Red Lines in the Dark

by littlethiefs



Series: Journey's End [2]
Category: The Daevabad Trilogy - S. A. Chakraborty
Genre: F/M, can definitely be read as a standalone, dara is flustered and confused about his Emotions, i wanted their journey to go on forever tbh so have more of it, set after the hierapolis chapter, set during COB, spoiler: it's his heart, the shafit thief seems to be stealing a little something from him u know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:54:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26292217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlethiefs/pseuds/littlethiefs
Summary: Dara does NOT like the shafit thief. Definitely not. His stomach does flips when she smiles at him just because.
Relationships: Darayavahoush e-Afshin/Nahri e-Nahid
Series: Journey's End [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1910329
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	Red Lines in the Dark

“Can we take a break?” Nahri asked, plopping down on the grass beside him. Dara watched her wring the water from her curls, the droplets tip-tapping onto the ground, some of the moisture getting on his hands. “I’m tired of sleeping slumped over my horse.”

They’d been passing by a thin stream and Nahri had shrieked, talking his ear off about how desperately she wanted to wash. Dara had obliged, leading their horses to the grassy banks of the stream and stomping off into a copse of trees so she could have her privacy. It was getting more difficult to refuse her; half of it was that as they spent day after day together, she grew more open about what she wanted, a little more stubborn. The other half of it was that he liked to see the smile on her face when she got her way.

“We can take a break,” he nodded, and Nahri beamed at him. He looked away.

“You’re getting softer with each mile, Dara-hoosh,” she said, nudging his shoulder. He scowled at her - apparently, butchering his name was her new favorite past-time.

“I ask you once again to stop mangling my full name if you cannot say it.” She shot him another sly smile before making her way to their meager supplies. Retrieving some manna bread from her pack, she stuffed it in her mouth and immediately made a face that almost made him laugh. This was her routine. Eating tasteless bread, complaining of it, then taking another bite anyway. He’d been trying to conjure something better and had been failing miserably; the bread would have to do for now.

They dissolved into a silence, a silence that had once been uncomfortable and oppressive, but the more time he spent in her presence, the less he felt obliged to fill these gaps in conversation. She ate, gazing off to her left where the running water of the stream was visible, the evening’s dazzlingly bright moonlight glinting off its waves. Cold wind whispered through the trees and Dara saw her shiver from the chill.

Sometimes he forgot she was shafit. That was a surprise in and of itself, because for the first few days after meeting her, he’d been unable to think of anything but.  _ Soulless deception _ , he kept telling himself, even as he saw her eyes swim while talking about an elderly apothecarist friend, even as he pictured her as a child running through the streets and felt a pang of sympathy in his chest. He looked at her now sitting several feet away, her brown cheek -without a trace of luminosity- pressed against her knees, her round ears peeking from the curtain of her hair. If  _ she _ was soulless, then what was he? Something far worse, he imagined. 

Her fathomless black eyes met his, and Dara looked away quickly, embarrassed to be caught staring. “What are you looking at, Darya-hoosh?” she asked, her voice soft.

“You are cold.” He replied simply. “It was not wise to take a swim on a cold night such as this.” She straightened, rubbing her arms with her hands and Dara resisted the urge to help do it for her - his hands were far warmer than hers, after all. Catching his train of thought right there, he instead got to his feet. “I will find some kindling.”

It didn’t take him long; any piece of wood would do. He carried what he’d scavenged back to where they’d tied their horses and saw her shivering even more violently in the wind, her damp hair having soaked through her clothing. Quickly, he rushed over, a flame already dancing in his hands before he dropped the kindling and lit it. Heat sprung up immediately between them, and she sighed in contentment, turning her back to the flames to dry her soaked tunic. He averted his eyes, fixing his gaze instead on the fire, its presence calming him.

“We cannot keep the fire lit all night, little thief,” he said to her apologetically. “I do not want passing humans to come sniffing should they get curious.” 

“So you’d rather watch me freeze to death, is that it?” she asked, turning back to face him and drying her damp hair, her curls hanging far too close above the fire. “Some legendary  _ protector _ you are, Dara-yoo-” One of her locks caught fire, and quick as lightning, Dara reached over and wrapped his hand around the flame, feeling it die beneath his palm. She looked at him, an unreadable expression on her face.

Dara, with his hand still in her hair said, “Dara-”

Understanding immediately, Nahri gave him a grin. If Dara’s heart beat, he was certain it would have stopped. “Dara-” she repeated.

“-yava-”

“-yava-”

“-housh.”

“-housh,” she finished, her voice a whisper and Dara raised an eyebrow at her. “Dara-ya-hoosh.” Oh, she was doing this on purpose and taking immense pleasure in eliciting surly scowls from him. Dara snatched his hand away and she smiled, triumphant.

“Rude thief,” he muttered and she threw back her head and laughed, the sound echoing off the trees. He wanted to make her laugh again, to hear that sound over and over, and  _ Suleiman’s Eye! What was wrong with him _ ? This was a shafit girl, a thief plucked from the streets of Cairo with a sly smile and a sharp tongue who irritated him to no end and knew nothing of their world. No, he did not  _ like _ her.

He crossed his arms, feeling himself dissolve into his usual sulkiness. It was best he and the shafit girl keep their distance for now. No more casual conversations, no more jests, no more touching her hair, of course. When her hair and clothes were completely dry, he extinguished the fire and lay down on his back in the soft grass, clasping his hands behind his head. He heard her shuffling and saw her, from the corner of his eye, lie down a foot away before she began to shiver again, sniffling in the cold. He opened his mouth, then caught himself and stopped. Several minutes passed before he gave in.

“If you are cold, you are welcome to move closer to me. I  _ am _ made of fire, after all, and I would not want you to freeze to death after I promised you wealth and prestige in Daevabad.” Usually, she would have retorted with a teasing remark but she scooted closer to him almost immediately, while Dara tried to ignore the fact that he’d known exactly how she would have responded in normal circumstances. 

Nahri curled up as close to him as she could without touching him, Dara all too aware of her proximity to him. “Sleep well, Darayavahoush,” she said drowsily, and he heard the smile in her voice. At the sound of his name, his stomach lurched.  _ It is nothing _ , he convinced himself. It was just nice when someone, anyone said his name without contempt is all.

He lay awake for a long while, listening to Nahri’s breathing become deeper, falling into a steady rhythm as she stepped into her dreams. It was when he was all alone with nothing but his thoughts that the uncertainty of his future crashed down upon him. He could take her to Daevabad but were he to set foot inside the city, he would be captured. Thrown into the dungeons to rot there for an eternity where people said prisoners went mad. He had survived fourteen centuries of slavery and somehow emerged with his mind intact, but he did not know if he would survive the Nahid dungeons.

No, he could not return to the city. He would see her to her ancestral home, see her  _ safe _ and then he would leave. Go back to Khayzur and live a free life, and hopefully forget this journey they were taking with each other. And yet - the thought of leaving her there, of not being by her side when she met the Qahtanis, it was unthinkable. The thought of leaving her cut him far deeper than he’d ever thought it could. But no, that was because he was the last of the Afshins and she was the last of the Nahids, and he was sworn to her. Nothing else.

Nahri stirred in her sleep, then threw an arm across Dara’s waist, resting her head against the side of his chest. He stilled completely, watching her slack expression, her hair falling onto her closed eyes. Almost instinctively, he reached out and brushed the curls away from her face, smiling when her nose wrinkled at the touch. 

Then, he snatched his hand back as if he’d been scalded.

“ _ Fuck _ .” He whispered.

Dara was in deep trouble.


End file.
